


unexpected

by RowboatCop



Series: i knew you were mine for the taking [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hand Jobs, Hotel Rooms, Masturbation, Voyeurism, bath tubs, kinda Dom!Daisy, skoulsonfest2k16redux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 18:10:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7518107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/pseuds/RowboatCop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daisy & Coulson & a hotel room bath tub.</p>
            </blockquote>





	unexpected

In the days after Daisy’s birthday, he and Mack traveled halfway across the country — not in pursuit of Daisy this time, but after another gifted individual who can apparently move through walls and had used the ability to commit a string of burglaries.

(When they caught him, it was more taking credit for what Daisy had done to bring him in, though Talbot doesn’t know that. If Coulson can avoid telling him that Daisy is nearby, he’s going to do so.)

He doesn’t even know how she got out here this quickly — more quickly than he and Mack did — but he’s just as impressed with everything about her as he’s always been.

Even without her superheroics, though, he’s been thinking about her a lot since the day in her van.

Mostly, it’s not a change from normal because he usually thinks about her a lot, but it’s different, now. The general anxiety — not worry, not exactly, because Daisy can take care of herself and he’s understood that about her since the moment he met her — has been replaced with more specific anxiety.

He thinks about her skin under his palms.

He thinks about her youth and his age.

He thinks about the taste of her mouth and her tongue against his.

He thinks about _the closest he’s ever had to a daughter_. (It wasn’t a lie when he told May that, not exactly. Maybe not exactly the whole truth, either.)

He thinks about the way she kissed him, and about the fact that she’s nearby, and about the fact that she could show up and kiss him again.

So on the evening of his fifty-second birthday, as he lets himself into his hotel room, he’s no closer to understanding what he feels, or to reconciling his feelings about Daisy with the desire to kiss her again. (With the hope that maybe it wasn’t just loneliness on Daisy’s part that made her want to kiss him in the first place. He tries not to be foolish enough to hope that, but can’t seem to convince himself it’s reasonable.)

He thinks about her dear face as he puts away his keycard, and about her short cropped hair as he slips off his shoes, and her mouth against his as he decides he should have a bath.

They splurged for nice hotel rooms — strategically located, he and Mack to Talbot swore up and down — and Coulson picked the room with the good tub (the thing he’s missed the most about the Playground are the bathrooms — he picked _nice_ tubs).

It’s his birthday present to himself, a soak in a nice big bathtub. Once nice thing on an otherwise crappy birthday.

Quickly, he strips off and dumps his dirty clothes into the laundry bag, and pauses naked in the bedroom grab his ICER. It’s probably a sign of creeping paranoia, the way he doesn’t want to let himself get caught unarmed (by whom, he’s not sure), but he brings it into the bathroom with him, sets it by the sink as he runs his bath, complete with sandalwood bath salts, nice stuff purchased from a men’s shop near the Playground.

The water is heavenly when he finally lowers himself into the heat, lets the steam and the smell relax him.

Slowly, he stretches out his leg, hisses as he lets the heat soothe the damaged muscle. He’s been neglecting his physical therapy, pushing too hard and pretending he’s already in field shape, and it feels good to let it relax.

After drawing in a deep breath, Coulson lets himself sink below the surface of the water, so it covers his ears and his nose and his eyes and the top of his head, and the outside world almost ceases to exist.

He tries to make himself go weightless, tries to let everything go, but of course his thoughts turn back to Daisy.

He thinks about her hand on his thigh — the heat of her palm through denim and the way she slipped it higher and higher, until her fingers brushed his cock. Almost thoughtlessly, his hand recreates the journey, brushing up his inner thigh maddeningly slowly.

His cock jumps, but he’s slow as he drags his index finger slowly around the base, remembering the way her fingers had just barely brushed over him and somehow still given him the most intense sensation he can remember feeling. By the time his index finger runs up his shaft to draw a slow circle against the head of his cock, he’s desperate for more.

But it’s not long before his lungs are screaming for air, so he slides up out of the water to gasp in a breath, lays back against the edge of the tub and lets his hand keep moving, wraps his fingers fully around himself.

“You can hold your breath for a long time.”

Coulson jumps in the water at the sound of Daisy’s voice, and opens his eyes to see her standing in his bathroom, holding _his_ ICER at her side.

“It’s one of my many talents,” he...brags. Sort of.

“Good to know.” She raises her eyebrows at him, and then lets her eyes drift down his body, and he sort of wishes he had gone for bubble bath instead of bath salts, moves his hand from gripping his cock to ineffectually covering it up. “You don’t have to stop on my account.”

He licks his lips, looking up at her with an awkward smile as he curls in on himself, trying to hide his nudity. She’s wearing another tank top, and he finds himself thinking about touching her again, but it’s different when she’s standing in front of him: more dangerous and also much, much better.

“What…” He swallows, finds his throat suddenly dry. “What are you doing here?”

“I got lonely,” she answers with a raised eyebrow, dry and sarcastic and like that’s not the answer at all.

“Me, too,” he tells her because he’s been lonely _for her_ and that’s a kind of lonely.

“Yeah?” She sounds almost hopeful about it, like he’s admitting something important and maybe he is.

“I keep thinking about you.”

“Were you thinking about me just now?” Her lips curve around the question, and Coulson can feel his cheeks flush as he nods slowly.

“Yeah.”

“What about me?”

He licks his lips and glances over at a towel.

“I could get out…”

“I think I like you there,” Daisy tells him, and then flicks the toilet cover down so she can sit on top, practically facing him, his gun resting in her lap.

He nods, almost meekly, settling a little under her gaze. It shouldn’t be as arousing as it is, Daisy sitting there and looking at him, but _it is_.

“What were you thinking about?” She asks the question lightly, but with the authority of the clothed person in this situation, and he wonders if she’s always been this sexy.

“How you touched me.”

“How did I touch you?”

And all the blood in his body seems to race towards his cock, to bring it back to fully hard and much more difficult to conceal with his awkward posture.

“Soft,” he answers, his eyes slipping closed against his better judgment.

“You like soft, Coulson?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, and his right hand brushes over his cock again, soft like Daisy, and he sucks in a deep, slow breath before he pulls his hand away.

“Keep going,” she insists, motioning slightly with the ICER on her thigh — not pointing it at him because Daisy would never threaten or hurt him, not on purpose, not of her own free will — but something about it, about the order and the authority and his gun in her hand, makes him shiver, makes his cock throb.

He slides his hand up and down his cock once, so slowly, holding her gaze as he does it. It’s surreal, a moment that can’t possibly be happening.

Then her eyes dip down his chest, and he follows her gaze to the scar over his heart, to the attachment point of the prosthetic, to the scar on his leg. His broken body.

Reality crashes down around him, and he pulls his hand back, makes to cover himself.

“Coulson,” Daisy sighs his name and drops to the floor, on her knees beside the tub. He can hear her set down the ICER on the tile, and then she hesitates, her right hand hovering above his chest like she’s waiting for permission.

He swallows, feeling perhaps more exposed than he has ever felt in his life, and nods.

Her fingers are soft, gentle on his chest as she touches the scar, and then she skims her hand down his naked body until her fingers are brushing over his, just over his cock.

“Show me?” Daisy’s words are soft, and it’s the sound as much as the words themselves that makes his heart beat too fast.

Coulson sucks in a deep breath, tries to still the shaking in his muscles, and then moves his hand so he’s pressing Daisy’s into a circle around his cock, their fingers intertwined around him. He hardens fully in their combined hands, like his lingering fears and insecurities about his body matter less than the feel of her fingers between his.

When he moves his hand in a smooth stroke up and then down his cock, her hand moves with him, her fingers _touching_ him between his own, and he shudders with the intensity of it.

“Daisy,” he whispers her name as he directs her palm to curve over the head of his cock, and then they squeeze together as he shows her how to touch him.

“Hmm,” she half-answers, and he watches her gaze drag back up his body to meet his, the heat in her eyes obvious. He can almost feel it when she drags her tongue along her lower lip, moans against the answering shiver that works down his spine, and it’s suddenly unacceptable that he hasn’t kissed her, hasn’t felt her mouth against his.

It’s the prosthetic, and it’s still weird to touch people with it — to see it as his but feel nothing, to worry about what it feels like to someone else — but he rests it on her shoulder (gently, consciously gently) and pulls her forward so he can almost desperately seek her lips with his own.

Daisy breathes a moan into his mouth as she kisses him back, and her hand begins to work faster, independent of his direction.

It’s too fast — he doesn’t want this to be over so quickly — but all he can manage is to gasp against her mouth as she drives him closer to the edge.

Coulson quickly loses the ability to keep kissing her, reduced to open mouthed panting. When she pulls just slightly away, he blinks his eyes open and meets hers, deep pools of brown that pull him in, all soft and kind and _Daisy_.

He comes with her name in his mouth, his wet hands on her neck and in her hair, her fingers squeezing around him. His orgasm pulses through his body, leaves him breathless and grunting and helpless.

“Daisy,” he whispers her name again as he collapses against the back of the tub, all the tension draining out of his body in the aftermath.

“That was…” Daisy pauses, bites her lip and lets it slip through her teeth. “That was okay?”

She looks self conscious, somehow, even though she’s _Daisy_ and he’s the one that’s naked and vulnerable, so he pulls her mouth back down against his.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah, that was…”

He swallows, like he’s not sure what it was except that _okay_ is a huge understatement.

“Good,” she smiles, and her hand slides away from his softening cock, rests gently on his upper thigh, stroking back and forth on his wet skin with such tenderness that he wonders how he could have ever entertained that idea that Daisy would come to him for any reason besides wanting _him_.

“Daisy,” he breathes her name as he tugs her forward, her mouth back against his, soft at first and then harder as he can feel her desperation, almost like he can taste her arousal. “Daisy, I want…”

His hands are wet on her dry skin, her dry shirt, her dry hair, but he barely even thinks about it as he pulls her towards him — maybe into the tub.

“What do you want?” She asks, and he swears she sounds hopeful.

“I want to…” He swallows. “I want to make you come.”

She kisses him harder, making no objections to his wet hands running up her shirt, and her skin feels even better with the warm dampness of the water, even softer under his slightly pruney fingers.

They’re interrupted by the sound of Mack’s knock at his hotel door, but Daisy is the one that pulls back.

“Next time,” she tells him, like it’s a promise, and kisses him once more — something that feels depressingly final.

“When?” He knows he sounds pathetic, but he can’t help it.

“I don’t know,” she admits, frowning with her mouth and her eyes, and he doesn’t want to be that, something else that makes her feel bad.

“I’ll look forward to it,” he tells her instead because that’s what he wants to be, something she looks forward to, something that makes her life better. That’s what she is, what she’s always been, for him.

“Me, too,”

“Don’t get too lonely,” he smiles the words up at her, watches her smile a little in a way that’s still sad.

She turns her head and kisses his palm once — the prosthetic one, the one he can’t feel, but it still means something to watch her press her lips to it.

“Happy birthday, Coulson,” she whispers, and then rises from the floor, picking up his ICER as she does and setting it beside the sink where she found it before she disappears from the bathroom.

A moment later, when his hotel room door swings open and Mack storms in — ICER drawn because they’re _both_ increasingly paranoid is the truth — he knows she’s gone.

“Coulson?” Mack calls.

“In here.”

Mack has the good grace to barely peek through the door, like he just needs the visual confirmation, and then he backs away.

“Sorry. I thought I heard voices.”

“No,” Coulson swallows against the lie. “No. Just me.”

From out in the bedroom, he can hear Mack sit on the bed.

“I picked up cupcakes from that bakery you like.”

It makes him smile, and he thinks maybe this is actually a pretty good birthday.


End file.
